


Between Two Worlds

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Asylum, Alternate Universe - Dark, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Andy, a psychologist with a damaged past is assigned to Garrett Hawke, a resident in an insane asylum with a damaged present. They each believe they need to save the other one. They're probably right.</p><p>For this prompt on the kink meme  http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10749.html?thread=42003709#t42003709</p><p>tags will be evolving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Between two planes I still exist.  
> Between two dimensions, I drift.  
> Beneath two skies I watch and wait.  
> Between two worlds I roam and waste."  
> Enrico Orbita

_Warden. Grey Warden. He's coming._ A white canvas, now smeared with browns and darks and shadow colors. _Darktown. The lamp in Darktown_ A smear of brightness. Gold. Every shade of gold. Rose gold, copper gold, light glinting off each strand. A hank pulled back just there. A swoop of the brush to describe it. Stray locks, limned in gold. Gold to amber. Amber eyes, soft eyes, warm eyes. A drizzle of honey, a glow of bronze. But a shock of blue. Blue at the edges, blue underneath, sharp blue, dangerous blue. Soft eyes, killer eyes. _Not this time. I can save him this time._ Red and orange, fireball colors. _Suck on this._ Drawing a finger through the paint, staining the tip in red fire. Wiping it on the bridge of his nose. The smell of linseed. He touches his forehead to the canvas. Just an outline. Barely started. He needs more details to fill it in. Waiting. Always waiting.

*** 

Andy checked his map again. He was on the right road, all right. Not sure what he expected, but a dirt road cut into the hillside wasn't it. He was grateful the weather was good. He wouldn't like to drive this in winter. The road took a sharp turn, suddenly clearing the woods and he saw his destination, stark against the summer sky.

 _You have got to be kidding,_ Dr. Alexander Felssen stared at his destination, a miniature Gothic castle perched on a high hilltop. _What is this, Rocky Horror Picture Show?_ He shook his head, downshifting to make his way up the last length of the road leading to Kirwall Asylum, #2 Gallows Road, Kirkwall, New York.

Up close, the building was a nineteenth century neo-gothic monstrosity. A hulking brute of stone, complete with turrets and gargoyles. Andy couldn't imagine what people thought, arriving the first time. He knew what he thought, he thought he'd somehow slipped into a bad horror flick. A castle on a hilltop. What a cliché. He parked in the visitor lot, grabbed his briefcase from the back seat and knocked on the door _What, no bellpull?_

Inside, the building was warm, inviting and very well appointed. Lavishly decorated with warm woodwork, exquisite chandeliers and tasteful décor, it was clear that someone had put a lot of time and money into restoring the place. Of course, with what it cost to receive treatment here, he doubted money was a problem.

As he waited in the entry room, uncertain where to go, a tall red-haired man in a black cassock came down the sweeping staircase. Up close, the man was impossibly good-looking, with chiseled features and brilliant blue eyes. He introduced himself, in a rich, rolling accent, as Brother Sebastian Vael. 

Andy returned the handshake firmly. He glanced at the room, the thick rug, the velvet furniture, crystal chandeliers. “Nice place you have here.”

Vael laughed. “Have you heard the history of this place?” At Andy's head shake, he launched into his best tour-guide impersonation. “Kirkwall Asylum, or as it is more commonly called, The Gallows, was built in 1907 as a hotel, catering to the very wealthy in search of an out-of-the-way, but still luxurious, vacation spot. During the Great Depression, business dropped to nothing and the building was used, variously as a private boy's school, a museum and, as you can imagine, a haunted house attraction.” Andy chuckled along with the Brother. “It was finally and meticulously restored about fifteen years ago by the wealthy entrepreneur Vincent Dumas as a private asylum. He had placed his son into the public care system after the poor lad suffered a breakdown. He was, shall we say, less than pleased with the quality of care his son received, and had this building repaired, restored and refitted with the intent of housing his son, and others like him. Sadly, the boy died before the building was finished, but Mr. Dumar continued with his plan and,” he gestured expansively “this is the result.”

“Lovely,” Andy murmured appreciatively. He followed Vael up the staircase. “This floor is mostly administrative.” He pointed out the various offices, including those of Director Meredith Stannard, Assistant Director Justine Kristoff, the other psychiatrists and psychologists, the medical staff and Andy's own new office. “My office is downstairs, attached to the chapel. I assist our staff and patients in any spiritual capacity they require.” He opened the door to Andy's office, “Dr. Felssen” lettered in elegant gold on the door. “The building's outward appearance may be foreboding, but as you can see, the view more than makes up for it.” Gesturing towards the window.

Andy responded approvingly. The view was spectacular. The back of the castle was nestled into the foothills of the Adirondack mountains, at the edge of a small town built surrounding a small, picturesque lake. Far lovelier than his previous post, the ominously named Vigil's Keep, a dreary hospital just outside of the equally dreary city of Amaranthine, Georgia. It was a port city, humid, subject to hurricanes and everything there smelt of fish. Andy had been delighted when Kirkwall had requested his services. The significant increase in his salary had been an extra enticement. 

"You'll want some time to settle in. Director Stannard has scheduled a staff meeting at 8 p.m., after dinner. If you'd like to follow me, I can show you to your rooms."

"My rooms? I assumed I'd be staying in town."

"If you'd rather. But rooms and meals are included in your appointment package. I doubt you'll find anything as nice as we can offer in town. Not for any reasonable price, anyway. Most of the staff lives here, and even those who don't, keep a set of rooms. As you can imagine, the road into the Gallows is quite treacherous during the winter months."

Andy nodded. "When will I meet my patients?"

"You'll be attending to two patients in particular, Garrett Hawke and Merrill Dollish. We've placed all the pertinent information regarding the two of them in a folder on your quarters. If you'll follow me?"


	2. Chapter 2

Andy's rooms were attached to one of the turrets. A brief elevator (the old fashioned kind, with a decorative grate) ride up and Sebastian took him on a short walk to his new front door. “I'll just leave you here to get settled in.” 

Andy opened the solid hardwood door and gaped at his surroundings. He'd assumed that the grand style of the public levels of the building wouldn't be carried out in the private rooms and spaces. Apparently he'd assumed wrong. He'd never been in rooms this luxurious. He'd never even  _seen_  rooms like this, at least not in person. It was like stepping into an episode of Masterpiece Theater. Everything was carved wood, expensive rugs and gorgeous furniture. There was a living area with a fireplace (gas, not wood-burning) and a large flat screen TV overtop of it, framed like an antique painting, a small but well-appointed kitchenette, and a study with floor to ceiling bookshelves – carved wood, of course. The bathroom was a beautiful art deco affair, with an enormous claw-foot bathtub that looked big enough to comfortably submerge his long, leggy frame. The shower was separate, in it's own tiled in space. His new bedroom was in the turret, with wooden wainscoting, another fireplace, and a huge canopied bed complete with red silk hangings. He sat down on the edge of it and found it to be wonderfully comfortable. He chuckled to himself, feeling like the new lord of the manor. He could definitely get used to this.

Wandering back out into the living area, he found a folder and large leather notebook sitting on the coffee table next to an elegant wing-back chair. The folder held a map of the building, a directory of all the various staff members and their extensions, and another map, this one of Kirkwall proper. He opened the notebook next. Flipping through it, he discovered it to be a dossier on his two primary patients, Hawke and Dollish. After making himself a cup of tea in the kitchen, he settled in to read. 

He'd been through the papers twice, and found them leaving more questions than answers. The information was really the barest outline; cold, clinical and not nearly thorough enough. Frustrated, he tried to read through an assortment of scientific papers that were included in the notebook, all authored by one Garrett Hawke, PhD. It didn't take him long to realize that the content of the papers was so far beyond him as to be virtually gibberish. Hawke had been a physicist, apparently a very good one, and Andy was generally lost by the end of the first page. He sighed and set the papers aside. He'd have to make sure to corner Dr. Orsino after dinner. He never liked to start with a patient without some sort of background. Going in blind just made everything so much more difficult for everyone. 

Andy's personal belongings had been sent here ahead of him. Several boxes (mostly books) were waiting for him in the office space. He spent the remaining time before dinner unpacking and arranging until he had the rooms to his liking. By the time he finished, he found he had enough time for a leisurely shower before dinner. 

The dining hall was on the main floor, at the back of the building. A wall of plate glass windows faced out to a stunning view of the gardens, with the Adirondacks looming in the distance. Three large wooden tables were arranged in a U shape. Several of the seats were already occupied. A tall, elegant man with swept back grey hair was sitting next to Sebastian He gestured to Andy, indicating that he should sit in the empty chair between them.

Andy settled in between the two of them and the elegant man with the grey hair introduced himself as James Orsino, adding that he was certain that Andy had a number of questions for him.

Andy shook his hand warmly. “I certainly do. The dossier in my rooms was hardly exhaustive.”

Dr. Orsino chuckled. “Those are really just a formality. I prefer passing on the necessary information personally, so that I can answer any questions you might have directly. Perhaps after dinner we..” his voice dropped to a murmur. “Director Stannard.” He rose from his chair, along with the other men in the room. 

Standing up as well, Andy looked over to see the Director entering through the double doors. Easily the most imposing person he had ever seen, she positively radiated authority. Her face was stern and unforgiving, her blue eyes hard as flint. When she'd taken her seat at the center of the main table, the men all sat down as well. Director Stannard nodded to them all, then her eyes flickered over to Andy. She inclined her head imperiously.

“Dr. Felssen, yes? Welcome to Kirkwall Asylum. I trust you have found everything satisfactory?”

Andy rose up and gave a slight bow. “Yes, Director, more than. I'm very pleased to be joining you all here.”

“Indeed.” She nodded again, effectively dismissing him, gesturing for the staff to begin serving.

The food was every bit as impressive as everything else Andy had seen so far. He made a mental note to start taking the stairs to his rooms, otherwise he could imagine himself fattening up like a Christmas ham. After the dessert course, coffee was served and small conversations began to break out amongst the diners. 

“Do you always eat like this?” Andy eyed Orsino's slender form suspiciously. 

Orsino chuckled. “If you mean this well, oh yes, one thing the Gallows has never endured is complaints about the food. If you mean all gathered together in this formal a fashion, no. Director Stannard likes the staff to get together this way once a week, usually on Mondays. She feels it's good for morale for us all to share a meal together regularly. The rest of the week we're free to eat here in the hall or have dinner sent up to our rooms. That's what the dumbwaiter in your kitchen is for. Since today is your first day here, the Director made an exception and had us all take dinner here tonight.”

“Give everyone a chance to look me over?”

“Something like that. And for you to find out who everyone is. You already know Sebastian, I take it?” At Andy's nod, Orsino continued. “Sitting next to the Director is Assistant Director Kristoff, next to her is Dr. Grace. On the Director's other side is Michael Cullen, Director Stannard's personal assistant. Next to him is Aveline Vallen, our head of security. On the far table are Orana Cameron, she's in charge of housekeeping, Dr. Solivitus, head of our medical staff, Dr. Alain and Dr. Emeric. On my other side is Dr. Thrask.” 

“How are you liking your new quarters?” Sebastian leaned over.

“Amazing. I'd have to say they're the most beautiful rooms I've ever had the pleasure of staying in.”

“The Gallows, in spite of it's name, is a lovely place.”

“Why is it called Kirkwall Asylum? That sounds so Victorian. Why not Kirkwall Hospital or even Kirkwall Sanitorium?”

“Vincent Dumas liked the term 'asylum'. He intended it in the spiritual sense as well as the medical sense, I believe. He saw this as much a refuge as a hospital, a place where the mentally unwell could seek sanctuary from a world they were unable to deal with. Did you not see the plaque as you came in the door?” Andy shook his head. “It reads: 'I have made this place a sanctuary of healing and salvation.' “

“I think 'asylum' rather suits the gothic atmosphere of the place, don't you think?” Orsino placed his napkin onto the table. “If you've finished your coffee, we can head upstairs.”

“We don't need to wait for the Director to finish?”

Orsino shook his head. “No. She likes to observe formalities at the start of the meal, but no one is required to linger afterwards. Keeps the help from cleaning up promptly.” He winked and gestured towards the door. “After you.” 

***

The painting was stark and powerful. It took up most of the wall in Orsino's study, dominating the room with swirls of red and gold and charcoal. The imagery was highly stylized, but it was clearly a portrait of Orsino, dressed in heavily embroidered robes, holding some kind of snake headed staff in one hand, the other hand wreathed in sinuous flames. 

“That's fantastic. You say Garrett Hawke painted this?”

“He did. As you can see, he's quite talented. He's done a number of portraits, including several of the staff here. His depictions are consistent with his delusions.”

“The paperwork I have says he's suffering from a dissociative fugue?”

“Yes. The episode began with the death of his parents. He disappeared for several weeks, only to turn up in a mental hospital in New York City.”

“And he believes that he is some sort of medieval warlord in a fantasy version of Kirkwall.”

“Not precisely. Garrett knows perfectly well who is is and what he does professionally. He believes that he has accessed some sort of alternative version of himself in a world very different from our own. He believes that, in addition to being Garrett Hawke, scientist, he is also the Champion of Kirkwall, a mercenary adventurer and hero.”

“Do you mean that he has dissociative identity disorder? Multiple personalities?”

“Not exactly. More like he sees himself as living two lives at once.”

“Interesting. I've never dealt with anything quite like that before.”

“Hawke is a very interesting character. Quite charming, actually. Sometimes it's easy to forget he's suffering from delusions. Most of the time he seems as normal as anyone. And then he'll say something odd, or refer to his fantasy Kirkwall and you'll realize that the illusion of normalcy is just that, an illusion.”

“Two years is a long time for a fugue state to persist.”

“Indeed. His amnesia was short lived. But the new identity, that of the Champion of Kirkwall continues; we've had no luck breaking him out of it. Art therapy, as you see, is just one of the many things we've employed in an attempt to help restore him to his previous functional state.”

“I see you're also treating him with lyrium.” Andy frowned.

“It's the policy of the hospital, per Director Stannard, to treat it's patients with experimental lyrium. I'm sure she'll discuss it with you at the staff meeting.”

“And you approve of this treatment?”

“I do not, which was one of the reasons I selected you as my replacement.”

“I assume Director Stannard is aware of my feelings about the use of lyrium. I'd hate to find myself fired before I've even gotten a chance to settle in.”

“She is, yes. While the Director has a great deal of say in the day to day running of the Gallows, issues such as staffing and appointments, come under the purview of the Board of Trustees, the most powerful member of which is Mr. Hawke's brother in law, Varric Tethras.” Orsino glanced at the clock in the kitchen area, indicating to Andy that it was time to rejoin the others for the staff meeting.


	3. Chapter 3

Varric Tethras was a stocky man, barrel-chested with golden brown hair tied back from his face. He was easily a head or so shorter than Andy, but then most people were. He dressed casually, but expensively. His wife, whose luscious figure was just beginning to round out with pregnancy, had dark eyes and a sweet, angelic face with a stubborn chin and a determined gaze.

Andy shook hands with both of them and ushered them into his office. “I assume you're here to discuss your brother. How can I help you?” He seated himself behind his large wooden desk.

“What do you know about Garrett's case?”

“Only what I've read in the dossier and what I've been told by Dr. Orsino. I haven't had a chance to meet with my new patients personally yet.”

“Well.” Tethras smiled expansively. “Let me tell you why you're here.”

***

As it happened, Andy's first therapy session with Garrett consisted of watching him paint. Andy wasn't much of an artist. He could doodle with the best of them, but beyond that, his experiences with art (outside of mandatory field trips to the art museum in school) were limited to the occasional episode of “The Joy of Painting” when nothing else was on.

This was nothing like that. Forget a calm approach and happy trees. Garrett attacked the canvas, his brushes dancing like lightning across the surface. He used brushes, palette knives, even his fingers. His work area was chaotic, paint tubes everywhere. Any surface, from table top to palette, even his arms, was a mixing surface. Streaks of colour dotted his apron, flecked his hair. A glob even splashed on the far wall while Anders was watching.

Yet for all of that, the work itself was a symphony of quiet grace. It was Merrill, looking up through a twisting framework of branches, one hand reaching towards the viewer. The leaves around her were sunlit, almost trembling in a breeze, and Merrill seemed to be climbing up through them, her face gilded by a shaft of light. Her large eyes were bright and glowing, her hair in short braids that mimicked the twining branches around her. On the shadowed side of her face, tribalistic tattoos highlighted the curves of her cheek and jaw. Her ears were long and pointed. Even in Hawke's stylized treatment, the painting managed to convey Merrill's slenderness and delicacy. Her face, slightly off center on the canvas, was an island of warm colours amidst a swirling sea of greens, golds and the faintest hint of blue sky between the leaves.

Andy sat quietly watching Hawke work. He hadn't had a session with Merrill herself yet, merely observed as Orsino spoke to her, but the image was unquestionably her. He grimaced slightly as the scent of linseed oil caught in his nose. He took notes. Hawke talked to himself the entire time he painted. A lot of it was directed at the painting itself, things like “blue, yes, just there,” or “green. Not enough green.” All in all, it was a fascinating insight into Hawke's character, especially in that Hawke seemed to be oblivious to his presence. In fact, the man had barely acknowledged him when he entered the room, waving him to a chair, hardly glancing away from the maelstrom of paint daubs covering his workspace. 

Andy's head jerked up as Hawke dropped his paints with a clatter. He stepped back from the canvas, one brush dripping scarlet still in his hands. Andy stared, shocked, as Hawke flung red paint at the canvas, splattering it over the graceful image of Merrill's hand and all along the leaves surrounding her face. When he finished, his face was pale and the glowing greens appeared dipped in blood. 

_Magic. Blood Magic. No. She's too old, too young. Dalish, dying all around._ Red, everywhere red. Red paint on his hands, his brush, splattered across his face. Red against green, read covering blue and gold. _Lethallen. Have I saved her? Can I save her? How can I help them all, I can't, I must. Please. I can't lose anymore..._

Hawke sat down hard on the floor. He turned his face to Andy, a look of pure anguish contorting his features. “I...I don't know what to do.” His voice came out small and strangled, like a child's.


End file.
